


Who Needs A Shotgun When You've Got Kryptonite?

by kuonji



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim needs to have a talk with Bruce about certain <i>gifts</i> he's been sending Superboy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Needs A Shotgun When You've Got Kryptonite?

**Author's Note:**

> Two days late, I know, but Happy Father's Day!

Red Robin's hunting style wasn't the spotlit, knock-'em-out show that characterized Robin. Neither was it the cloaked, surgical strike that was Batman's signature. No. This cowled addition to the Batclan was more like a launched rocket: silent until contact, and that's when the explosions started.

The gleaming red modified Ducati shot into the cave and braked to a controlled stop in its usual parking spot. Ordinarily, Dick would have jumped down from where he was cave-climbing to say hello, but the explosions started as soon as Tim finished parking responsibly and hopped off his vehicle.

" _Bruce!_ " Tim was naturally light on his feet, and Red Robin's boots were designed for agility and stealth. The way his footsteps were echoing across the cave floor was deliberate.

Bruce turned around in the command chair and stood. He was in his uniform with the cowl off, as was usual when doing work in the cave. That made it easier than usual to see how his focused gaze followed Tim's progress.

"Tim," was his terse greeting.

"We need to talk."

"What about?"

Tim pulled off his cowl as well. He'd let his hair grow out. That was usually an indication of stress. "Kon. You need to stop _harassing_ him."

"I haven't been anywhere near Superboy for months."

Tim dismissed that with a chopping gesture. "It needs to stop, okay? You're freaking him out. He's looking over his shoulder whenever we're together and he's afraid to open the mailbox at his own home."

"Hm. I did send him a few gifts. He didn't enjoy them?" Bruce's thick, well-manicured eyebrows drew together a few millimeters, as if he were actually concerned. Dick leaned farther out on the perch from which he was definitely not spying.

"Gifts," Tim repeated, his tone dry enough to soak up all the Atlantic. He ticked off points on his gloved fingers. "Green glow-in-the-dark costume jewelry." ("He was going to that concert," Bruce explained reasonably.) "A tanning lamp in red spectrum." ("It's almost swimsuit season.") "A book of magic spells--" ("I thought he might enjoy a new hobby.") "--accompanied by a note that both Zatanna and Jason Blood owe you favors." (A shrug.) "And a sheet from your preliminary plans for rebuilding a Father Box." ("I thought he would be glad to know he might be able to meet his friends from New Genesis again. They're your friends, too, aren't they?")

Tim took a moment to glare silently at his mentor. "You asked him what he thought the weather might be like on Apokolips right now."

"It's a common show of good faith to share intel."

"Intel."

"Mm."

"Like, this pack of photos that got sent to Titans Tower last weekend?" Tim threw a manilla envelope onto the worktable. Bruce didn't so much as glance at them.

"He used to be quite vain, but I saw he hasn't made time for a photoshoot in some years. I sent him the most flattering ones."

"Satellite photos are never 'flattering', Bruce."

Silence, then, lightly, "I take it he didn't like them?"

"He never saw them because I intercepted them en route. But do most people like hi-def suveillance photos of themselves sent in unmarked envelopes? No, they do not. Speaking of photos. How long did it take you to create that photo album?"

"I had some dead time."

"You're telling me that _Batman_ just happened to have some extra time on his hands, so he used it to fake two dozen embarrassing baby pictures."

For a full thirty seconds, there was no sound in the cave other than the water far below and the bats far above.

Dick was impressed. He'd never been able to last longer than five seconds in a staring contest with the Bat. Tim, however, stood absolutely still and even maintained the depth of curve in his scowl. His sweat-spiked cowl hair didn't diminish his attitude one bit.

Inevitably, though, Bruce's implacably flat stare won out.

"Ugh. _Fine_." Tim literally threw his arms up in exasperation.

"I don't understand the problem. I thought it was a suitably whimsical gift for someone who had missed out on a real childhood."

Tim massaged his temples. "Okay, yeah, the photos were kind of thoughtful. In a creepy way. But putting them in a big lacy album and dropping that off in the Smallville High quad was not."

"He'd just flunked a social science exam. I thought he might need something to cheer him up."

"I know what you were doing. You were _punishing_ him for not completing the take-home project part of that stupid exam, because he was busy saving the world. Again."

"That never stopped you from achieving excellent grades."

Point.

Tim took a breath, paused, seemed to gather himself. "Look. Bruce. I don't know if you're upset about me dating a boy, or a teammate, or an alien, or whatever. But that does not give you the right to start... _meddling_."

Bruce shifted slightly. "I'm not upset that you're dating a boy." The refutement of the rest of Tim's sentence was loud in its absence. "Technically, he's not an alien."

"I said, whatever! If you don't like us dating you can act like an adult and tell me to my face. But you have to understand that you don't have any real say in whether it happens or not."

"I have no problem with you two dating," was the smooth reply. Seeming bored with the conversation, Bruce turned back to the console and opened a file.

"Then why are you-- That is not what I think it is."

Dick squinted at the big screen. It displayed a blueprint for what might be a one-man escape pod or a stasis chamber. He was too far away and at a poor angle to read the text, but he could see Tim's stunned expression as his eyes scanned the drawing.

Bruce clicked on it and made a small modification. "You're right," he said, conversationally. "Let's meet as adults. How about lunch tomorrow at noon at _The Lotus_? My treat. I can ask him for his opinions on this at the same time. I'll email him right now."

Tim dove for the console and slapped Bruce's wrist away. "You are _not_ sending him a lunch invite along with drawings for a kryptonite containment chamber. What is _wrong_ with you?"

Bruce regarded his protégé mildly. He nodded. "Since your emancipation, I no longer have any legal authority over you. Aside from that, you are a very intelligent and coolheaded young man, and I know you are fully capable of choosing what is best for yourself. Kon-El has matured into a steady and trustworthy companion with an excellent moral compass. It is my opinion that he works well in complement to you, both personally and professionally. I won't interfere with your relationship with him. You have my word. Will that be sufficient?"

"Um." Clearly taken aback, Tim rallied enough to say, "Okay." It even came out not sounding like a question.

"Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?"

"Uh." Tim glanced at the screen just as Bruce shut down the blueprint and opened a panel of six traffic cams, then GCN on mute in one corner. "Minus the kryptonite, right?"

"Of course."

"I'll, uh, I'll ask Kon about it and get back to you."

"All right." Bruce opened a log and typed a few notes. Paused. "Was that all?" The dismissal was obvious.

Tim gaped at the back of Bruce's head for a long time. Then he grunted and whirled sharply around back towards his bike. Dick took a moment to admire how much more dramatic the gesture became when a cape was involved. Every teenager should have one.

Judging the coast clear as soon as the hangar doors closed behind the roar of Red Robin's departure, Dick hooked his grapple line and slid down headfirst, arcing into a forward dismount and releasing the grapple as he landed a few yards from Bruce.

Eyes on stowing his line in exact loops, Dick mused out loud, "So... Tim and Superboy, huh?"

"Don't act like you didn't know."

Dick shrugged in response and leaned against the console beside Bruce's right hand. "You're really going to stop messing with Superboy's head now?"

"I did promise." A soft beep sounded, and Bruce opened a lab analysis screen. A sample reported traces of potassium chloride. Bruce noted that in the log. "I'll even apologize to him in person."

"Tonight?"

"In his bedroom, I think."

"After he's asleep."

"The only time I can be sure he's home."

"You'd have to wake him up."

"His super senses will let him know he's being watched."

"The only humane way to do it."

"Yes."

"You'll be in costume."

"That's how he knows me."

"You'll make sure he knows how much you value his well-being."

"Of course."

"And Red Robin's."

"One of my best operatives."

"But having a slight self-destructive streak, hm?"

"Perfectionists often do."

"Inducing protective instincts?"

"A useful focusing technique."

"And providing a common enemy?"

"A reliable uniting force for couples, I hear."

Dick watched as Bruce paused one of the traffic cams, enlarged a plate, then plotted several points on a map of the Upper East Side.

" _Please_ tell me you have his bedroom fitted with nightvision cameras."

"There's a folder of video files on the communication drive. You know the passwords. It'll respawn after deletion by an unauthorized user."

Dick hopped up to sit cross-legged on the counter. "You know, in some cultures, a father's promise is binding on the son."

Bruce called up a photo of the front of a restaurant and studied it. "Fascinating."

"The thing is, I wasn't raised that way, was I?"

"No." The faintest of smirks curved the side of Bruce's face.

Back when Dick was younger than Damian was now, when Bruce was no older than the current Batman and with far less experience, a heartbroken young man had taken in a grieving boy, and the two of them had first built the partnership that would become legendary in Gotham.

Legendary and feared.

"Have a good lunch tomorrow." Dick headed to the lockers to wash up, whistling cheerfully as he went.

END.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
> [Youth Is Wasted On The Young](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4694471), by kuonji [Young Justice (comics)]  
> [A New Prize](http://archiveofourown.org/works/615225), by kuonji [Batman and Robin]  
> [What MacDonalds Do](http://archiveofourown.org/works/342190), by kuonji [Wilby Wonderful]  
> [Busted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1811065), by littlechinesedoll [Tim/Kon]  
> [It's Nap Time](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6396016), by ThatSoChangeableChick [Tim/Kon]  
> [Sometimes it's Enough Just to Shine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/485504), by Tabithian [Dick/Jason]


End file.
